Bitter Spice
by Rel Fexive
Summary: A story of revenge and deception, starring the woman of many names, Saffron. Or Yolanda. Or Bridget. Or whatever it is this week.
1. Chapter 1

**Bitter Spice**

By **Rel Fexive**

**Disclaimer:** Firefly tain't mine. It all belongs to that Whedon fella.

**Summary:** A story of revenge and deception, starring the woman of many names, Saffron. Or Yolanda. Or Bridget. Or whatever it is this week.

**Comments:** This story begins as the episode 'Trash' ends. The idea for doing this came from a question I asked Christina Hendricks at the Starfury Squared convention: do you think Saffron escaped at the end of 'Trash'? The consensus from the guests was a definite "yes". But, Nathan Fillion asked, why did she not turn in the crew of _Serenity_? So she could get her revenge on them, of course!

**Chapter One**

The container stank.

It was half-filled with garbage, so it was not surprising. It squelched and crunched underfoot, making for an unstable surface to stand upon. And with the lid closed and locked shut, the heat was as oppressive as the smell. All in all, it was not the most ideal environment in which to attempt an escape.

The woman known to some as Saffron, and to others by so many different names she could fill an address book, screamed her frustration out loud again, and scraped a lump of greasy gunk from her face. She looked as if she had been wading through a ton of garbage for an hour, which, not so coincidentally, was the case. Her reddish hair was matted with who knew what, and some if it had begun to soak into the legs of her trousers as well. She bit back another sob, refusing to give in to such weakness again.

_Damn that bitch!_ Saffron cursed to herself, and desperately looked around yet again for something, anything, that would get her out of her current predicament, and soon. _Damn Reynolds!_ "Húndàn!" she yelled out loud. Swearing at the causes of her current uncomfortable situation was better than just fuming in silence.

That she had been outmanoeuvred, again, by that idiot captain was bad enough, but by the Companion too? And outsmarted by the whole crew? The whore must have been lying about that… she could not have been tricked by all of them, surely? Even the big oaf with the wandering hands?

_Must've been a lie,_ she told herself, trying to make herself believe it. _I haven't lost it that badly!_ No, the bitch had been messing with her head, and she had almost believed it. Not that she was in a better position as a result, but she felt better about it.

Just, y'know, not much.

And now all she had to do was get out of the trash container before the Feds arrived. Before another angry husband got hold of her and sent her to a place that might make the container look heavenly. Thoughts of being locked up in some vile prison loomed large. And there were worse things that could happen, too.

Okay, so maybe Durran was not _quite_ as bad as the evil portrait she had painted for the crew of _Serenity_, but she would not get away lightly, however much the fool claimed to still love her. The punishments handed down on Bellerophon were stricter than most. And that was if Durran did not intervene somehow and propose an even harsher sentence. Hence the desperate need to escape as soon as possible.

No sooner had she begun to fastidiously rummage through the rubbish at her feet again that another noise began to intrude through the thick metal of the container. Saffron paused to listen and then stood suddenly in fear, banging her head on the lid above her. Resisting the urge to swear loudly, she glanced around her, eyes frantically searching, the sound outside increasing in volume all the while.

It was the whining of engines of a Federal Police enforcement skiff.

_Okay,_ she acknowledged to herself, _so I'm not getting out of here before the Feds show up after all. What can I do instead?_ Saffron smiled suddenly. _Use my two favourite weapons – deception and seduction._ She quickly took stock of what she had to hand and a plan followed soon after.

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Officer Hanson stepped out of the skiff, narrowing his eyes a little against the glare of the sun and the flashing lights on the roof. His grey uniform was a mite too warm for desert duty and he pulled at the collar with a finger, trying to make himself more comfortable. Fortunately, the light was dimming as afternoon came on, which meant it would get cooler too. And then freezing cold.

"Why the guay are we out here again?" Thompson complained loudly from the other side of the still-hovering police vehicle. Thompson always complained, and in the desert he was bound to complain more. His less than athletic figure, he had explained on the journey over the sea, meant that he would "positively melt" in the heat. Hanson wished he would, if only to keep him quiet.

"Mr Haymar had a break-in," Hanson explained to his partner as calmly as he could. "The thieves escaped apparently empty-handed, but it is believed they dropped the loot-" Hanson loved saying _loot_; it sounded much more exciting "-into the garbage, especially since this container is here, in the middle of nowhere, instead of at it's designated reclamation site."

Just down the dusty slope stood the container in question. It looked unremarkable in itself; only it's presence far from Bellerophon Rapid Reclamation Inc.'s island dumping ground was strange. There were reports of a ship interfering with the drone pickup point under Mr Haymar's estate, but no one had paid enough attention to be able to identify the class or anything remotely useful.

_These rich types might run the Alliance,_ the tall Fed officer frowned, _but how they do it when they can't see past the end of their noses is beyond me._

The question was: had the criminals been and gone? Mr Haymar had been assaulted by one of them, and in the time it had taken him to regain his senses they could well have escaped with whatever it was they had taken. Naturally, Mr Haymar was keeping quiet about that; he wouldn't want anyone knowing just what had been stolen from him.

He had seemed strangely reticent about the whole affair, actually. Hanson had to wonder what was going on under the surface, if anything. There was always something with these people. Affairs, scandals…

"What's that noise?" Thompson asked loudly, interrupting his partner's thoughts. He was squinting at the container and scratching his head. Hanson gave him a look that said _shut up so I can listen_ and strained his ears. Then he heard it.

Someone was banging on the metal walls of the container. From the inside.

Hanson got there first, of course, with his wider partner puffing up behind him. Close up, the banging was loud and unmistakable, as was the voice they could only just hear through the tiny gap between the walls and the lid.

"Is someone there? Hello?" The voice was clearly female, and on the verge of breaking completely from all the shouting it's owner had probably been doing. "Please, get me out of here! Please!" The voice descended into sobs.

"Madame," Hanson began, puffing up his chest for his unseeing audience, "this is Officer Hanson of the Federal Police. Who–"

"Wode tìan!" the voice exclaimed as a frantic scrabbling was heard within. "Officer? You have to get me out of here!" The woman's voice rasped slightly, her throat no doubt raw from all her yelling. The tips of fingers became visible through the tiny gap under the lid.

"Madame," Hanson started again, "who are you?" He was not just going to open the container because she said so. She could be one of the thieves, abandoned by her associates. Next to him, Thompson kept standing on tiptoe to try and see in through the gap.

"Jessica Ricks," the hidden occupant replied, her voice sounding a little funny. _She's holding her nose!_ Hanson realised. "Ai ya, it stinks in here! Who knew we threw away so much… smell! Honestly, you'd think I'd get used to it after being in here so long, but every time I move… urgh!"

"Ms Ricks," Thompson butted in, "why are you in there?" Hanson sighed; why could his porky partner not let him do all the talking? He always had to interrupt. Hanson was senior, he did the questioning. That was the way it worked. Or it should have worked that way, only Thompson could not resist interrupting a perfectly good interview with his inane questions.

"Oh, two of you come to rescue me! Xièxie nî! Those… ruffians grabbed me on the way to their ship, took me hostage!" Ms Ricks sounded indignant. "Can you believe it! I was just doing my job, working on the catering, carrying plates of food for the party, when this nasty, smelly man grabs me and drags me away!"

"The robbers kidnapped you?" Thompson had a way with stating the obvious, which was another reason why Hanson preferred he keep quiet.

"Of course they did!" Ms Ricks responded caustically. "You think I'd be dragged away out of choice! Him and his ugly hussy of a partner threw me into their ship and then they left me here! In all this garbage! After they… manhandled me!" The woman's voice caught ever so slightly as she recalled this particular indignity. "If they'd had more time… Tzao gao! I dread to think what they would've done to me!" There followed some quiet sobbing.

"Ms Ricks, we will have you out of there in but a moment," Hanson told her firmly. "If this override works," he continued under his breath. It sounded as if the caterer had had a very bad experience, and he did not want to add to it by having her stuck in her foul confinement any longer than she had to be. Fortunately, BRR Inc. had provided them with a device that would crack the locks and open it, should they need to. About the size of a comm unit, it was covered in buttons on one side. Supposedly, if he hit the right combination the container lid would release… which could take hours. If it worked at all.

"What is taking you so long?" Ms Ricks inquired after a few minutes of frantic button-pressing. She was sounding slightly better than she had before.

"It may take a while, Ms Ricks," Hanson admitted, almost as unhappy of being out in the hot sun as she was of being locked up, knee-deep in refuse. "We don't know the exact– Ah!" the Fed exclaimed as there was a loud _clunk_ and the lid of the container began to slowly rise.

"Oh, thank God!" Ms Ricks cried out, and as soon as there was enough space between the lid and the edge of the container small hands grabbed the edge and a small female figure pulled herself over the side down to the ground. She was grimy with who knew what, pale features stained with some sort of slime and the tracks of tears marking clear paths down her face. Eyes wide with relief looked at the two officers with undisguised gratitude. Her hair was tied back under a silken scarf, blue with white flowers.

At almost the same time she did, the two Feds suddenly noticed she was also wearing only her underwear. Ms Ricks blushed bright red and tried to cover herself up.

"They didn't want me escaping," she explained sheepishly. "And the… the man wanted a better look at me!" Her voice rose sharply with each word and at the end she covered her face with her hands, before quickly trying to cover up her assets again. Truth be told, Hanson was seeing little more than what he had seen on any beach on Bellerophon, but clearly Ms Ricks was not happy with showing that much skin herself, and certainly not to strangers and law enforcement officers besides. He did not have the heart to tell her that her hands did not seem to be large enough to do a sufficient job.

Thompson, for his part, was ogling her like a boy who had just seen his first lingerie catalogue.

Hanson looked down at the embarrassed woman and blinked a few times as he tried to chase his thoughts together into something resembling sense. It did not help that she was smiling up at him gratefully, her lips parted slightly as she breathed heavily.

"So, um, Ms Ricks," Hanson tried, and cleared his throat. "Perhaps… Ai ya." His hands reached up to his collar and he began to unfasten his uniform jacket. "I'll have you… er, covered in a moment, ma'am," he explained. _Won't that be a shame,_ came a random thought. _No,_ he chastised himself, _be professional!_

"Oh, _thank_ you Lieutenant!" the woman gushed, her enthusiastic speech having a distinct and noticeable effect on certain distinct and noticeable parts of her. "I find I'm suddenly very cold after being locked in that oven for hours!"

Thompson, luckily, was still incapable of speech. Hanson might have been forced to shoot him otherwise.

"Is there anything you can tell us about these criminals, Ms Ricks?" Hanson asked, not correcting her promotion of him. He tugged his jacket off and handed it to her; she accepted it with a sigh and slipped it on, pulling it tight around her.

"I feel almost civilised again!" she beamed. "Not like those thieves and kidnappers! From the Border Worlds I'd say, to judge by their accents and personal hygiene. How they got onto the grounds without anyone literally smelling a rat I'll never know!"

"Where did they go?" Hanson pressed her.

"How should I know?" She looked surprised. "I was in the container when they left!"

"Did they not say anything about where they were going on the way here?

"They grabbed me, dumped me in the back of their shuttle and flew out of there at top speed!" Ms Ricks frowned. "They must've done all their talking in the cockpit. The man, tall, dark hair, a bit like you, Lieutenant, he came back after we had taken off and made me undress at gunpoint! He– he put his hands on me!" The woman's eyes began to fill with tears and she hugged herself tightly. "Then they landed, got whatever it was they were after out of the container, and threw me in there, laughing all the while!" Ms Ricks' expression grew angry. "Ruffians! Tyen-sah duh uh-muo!"

"Don't worry," Hanson assured her gently, "we'll catch them. They won't get far, and then they'll face justice for what they've done." She looked so grateful it made his knees weak. Try as he might to be wary and professional, the officer could barely hold it together, instead wishing he could impress her with some amazing act of deduction like on the dramas on the Cortex. He swallowed and looked to Thompson. "Get on the radio, call this in." The look he got back was venomous, but the larger man turned to go back to the skiff nonetheless.

It was at that point that things happened very quickly.

Hanson had enough time to see a slim, athletic leg whip up and catch Thompson in the small of his back before his vision turned all grey and dim. His partner hit the ground with a loud "oof!" and Hanson realised his coat had been thrown over his head just as a small, hard fist caught him right in the gut, winding him.

As Hanson staggered, struggling for breath, he heard Thompson begin to complain before he was cut off by a very solid sounding _thunk_. As the coat slipped off his head, Hanson found himself staring at the beautiful but grimy woman from the wrong end of Thompson's sidearm.

"Men," she said derisively in a harder voice than before, shaking her head. "You're all so predictable. I could play you both like a dulcimer all day long." She smiled. "Night night!" she told Hanson brightly.

Everything went dark.

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With the second Fed slumped unconscious at her feet, Saffron sighed. If such was the quality of Bellerophon's law enforcers, she and Mal could have walked out of Durran's estate dissuading pursuit merely by the fluttering of her eyelashes and a flash of cleavage.

_I can't believe I'm complaining about these Feds not being professional enough!_

After prodding both officers with her feet, she was satisfied they really were out for the count, so she cuffed them with their own restraints and stripped them of anything useful. Then she returned to the trash container.

Her boots would wash off, as would the simple, red jacket. Her top was all but untouched, as it had been protected by the jacket. The trousers had it worst of all, though. They were stained by the filth she had been forced to wade in by that witch. Glancing back at the Feds, she gave them an nasty grin they would have shuddered to see, had they not been forcibly snoozing.

It was easy enough to remove their trousers, and with a great deal of belt tightening and rolling up Hanson's fit her well enough. The trousers of the unnamed fat man, who had all but slobbered over her, she threw into the container. It was lucky it was late in the day; if it had been morning, the two officers would have been in danger of getting the backs of their legs horribly sunburnt.

_Shame,_ Saffron lamented. _They would've had red legs to go with their red faces._ She grinned. Obviously Durran had not told everyone just who had come to rob him, or they would have known to be on the look out for her. _How embarrassing, to be robbed of your prized possession by your supposedly long-lost wife._ Not that she had the Lassiter anymore… Her face fell.

_I wonder how sunburnt Reynolds is by now…_ That thought chased away thoughts of failure. _He won't be able to sit down for a week!_

The Fed skiff had a couple of water bottles stowed in the cabin, so she used one to clean her boots and get the nastiest of the surface muck off her jacket. Now she would look respectable enough to travel around without raising too many eyebrows or alarms, but she would need to change in any case.

Most of her gear for the job she smashed against the side of the container and carefully scattered the pieces in amongst the rubbish. That left her with a scant handful of platinum, a few pieces of jewellery, and the smelly clothes on her back.

She had started a job with a lot less before and succeeded readily enough. All she had to do was get off the planet… and find Reynolds and his crew.

"And then, _sweetie_," she told her distant husband determinedly, staring up at the orange-tinged sky, "we'll see who wins the _next_ one."

**End of Chapter One**


	2. Chapter 2

**Bitter Spice**

By **Rel Fexive**

**Disclaimer:** Firefly tain't mine. It all belongs to that Whedon fella.

**Summary:** More tricks, more names, more plans.

**Chapter Two**

"Won't be long now," Jonus Webster promised with a wide smile. There was a twinkle in his eye as he said it, a promise of future mischief. As he turned his gaze back towards the unloading of the cargo, Saffron rolled her eyes.

_The sooner I can be rid of this idiot the better._

Her smile came back full-strength as he glanced back her way again, his own smile slipping slightly as he muttered an apology. As the captain of _The Merchant Of Verona_ moved off to direct the port labourers himself, the young woman had to admit he was a handsome enough fellow, if a trifle predictable. He had fallen for her terrible tale of woe hook, line and sinker, believing her when she said the jewellery she had paid for passage with was all she had been able to grab before fleeing her cruel employers.

Freeing a beautiful woman from such a captivity fed the fires of men's egos, and the heat and flames could also blind them. Playing the noble rescuer seemed to leave little time for other thoughts, such as the kind that made it easy to see through paper-thin, hastily-constructed lies.

A couple of con jobs on the back streets of Bellerophon's capital had bought her the passage, but guile and seeming helplessness had made the captain her protector and ardent suitor. It also helped that he was very interested in getting off the planet without delay, to save her from her nasty captors, which was fine with her. Especially when his destination was Newhall, which was exactly where she needed to be.

"Carrie, my sweet," Jonus called to her, holding out a hand. Saffron gave him her sunniest smile and daintily jumped down from the packing crate she had been sat on. She smoothed down the plain grey dress, adjusted the collar, and walked towards him, a demure figure. He cut a dashing figure himself with his dark coat and white shirt, boots shining from their recent polish, hair washed and combed back. He was certainly much better turned out than _some_ captains… Even his ship, a Mustang-class cargo transport, was shiny and polished, instead of rusty and held together by luck and whatever accumulated go-se kept it in one piece from one day to the next.

"Are you done yet, my captain?" she asked as she took his hand. He gave hers a small squeeze. "I am weary of watching boxes without end be stacked atop each other."

"Just a few more errands, my dear, then we'll be done," he told her. Turning to the chief of the labourers, he continued, "I'll be seeing the dockmaster once I get paid; he'll see to your pay, as usual." The other man, large of muscle and keen of gaze, nodded and gestured to his crew. "That's all that's left," Jonus promised Saffron, "honestly it is. Drop off the cargo, get paid, see the dockmaster…"

"…and then we can finally be alone," Saffron finished. "No crew around, no thin walls, just us." She glanced around, seeing the dock crew were leaving. She also noticed the usual disapproving look from Clarke, the pilot of the _Verona_. They had never seen eye to eye, the two of them; the whole two weeks of the journey, Clarke had had his watchful eye on her. The dark-skinned man with his beaded hair just didn't trust her at all.

_Good guess._

"Ah, Carrie," Jonus breathed into her ear, unmindful of the stares of his crew as he slipped an arm around her waist. "You make me wish there was a way to travel to other stars, so I could show you every one o'them."

"Now, now, captain," she reminded him, pushing him gently away. She looked up at him from under her lashes. "Not until we're alone." His grin was like that of a farmboy who had just been told it was time to go play in the hayloft.

In truth, it had been the flirting and the promise of time alone together that had paid her way to Newhall. It had been so easy to string him along it was almost ludicrous. He was almost as dim as Reynolds…

"In that case," the captain announced, "let us be away to our destination." Taking her by the hand he led her to the first of the flatbed trucks that carried his cargo. Directing her to climb into the cab ahead of him, she found herself sat alongside Deakin, the cargo master of the _Verona_.

"Are we ready to go, lil lady?" he asked her with his gap-toothed smile. Old, grey-haired and wrinkly, he looked as if he had been flying the black since the Exodus. He had enough stories to make that estimate look like a conservative one.

"Indeed we are," Jonus replied for her, pulling the door shut behind him. "Onward!"

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"Forty five cases, yes," Old Man Yu agreed. The elderly Chinese man nodded to himself under his little black hat and looked around the cluttered warehouse before making a mark on his tally. "And in good time. Again you work wonders, Mr Webster."

"Thank you, Mr Yu," Jonus replied, the captain putting on the full oriental formality act. "And now…" He seemed to stumble over his words a little. "I am almost too embarrassed to ask…"

"Almost, but not quite," the old gentleman smiled. "Here," Yu continued, reaching into his silken coat and bringing forth a small pouch. "Your payment for a job well done. Tourists and residents alike will welcome the arrival of more of my fine wines. And I will welcome their custom even more so."

By the chink the coins within made as the pouch was laid on Jonus' palm, Saffron guessed there was a substantial bonus in there to go with the actual payment. She resisted the urge to smile, instead keeping back as was required.

"I am glad to serve," Jonus responded, bowing, "especially such a generous man as yourself."

"Ai, begone, you flatterer," Yu said good-naturedly. "I will continue to speak highly of your ship and your manners also. Clear skies, Mr Webster."

Outside, in the street running past Yu's Emporium, Jonus swept Saffron into his arms. "With the extra cash the Old Man gave us, I'm going to spoil you rotten. And buy the spares the Verona needs, of course." He frowned. "Hopefully I'll be able to get a good enough deal that I won't have to resort to buying scrap parts to get us that hotel room."

"Anywhere that isn't my box room on the Serra Estate will seem like a grand palace by comparison," Saffron gushed. "A palace with a king of my very own." Jonus grinned and gave her a quick kiss, or a kiss that would have been quick had Saffron not pulled him tightly to her, not willing to let her 'king' go just yet.

If there was one unfortunate thing that Saffron had discovered about Captain Jonus Webster, it was that he was truly awful at kissing. It was only made worse by how often he wanted to kiss her, so she was subjected to his lacklustre skills in that department far more often than was even vaguely pleasant.

_I'm glad I'll never have to find out if he's as bad in other ways too._

The only good thing about the embrace they shared outside Yu's shop was that it let her know exactly where the money pouch was secreted on the captain's person.

Pulling back, Saffron gazed up at the man holding her, her breathing pitched exactly as she had been taught. _Just the right amount of breathlessness to suggest arousal, not enough to suggest you are already too worn out to continue._

"I am not sure," she began slowly, seemingly becoming more bold, "that I can wait for the hotel room." Jonus' expression changed from surprise to lust in a heartbeat. As he quickly looked around for whatever secluded place a man like him considered appropriate for a quick grapple, Saffron held on tight to his coat, as if she never wanted to let go.

Apparently, a narrow side street half-blocked by a van and filled with lines heavy with linen was sufficient to cover the captain's modesty. The small mountain of empty boxes halfway along provided ample shelter from prying eyes, and it was to there that Jonus led her. _Classy,_ Saffron thought with a mental shake of the head.

As his weight pressed her back against the wall, he began to – well, _grope her_ was the definitely the way to describe it. He really had no finesse to him at all. Very disappointing. So it was without any regret at all that Saffron swiftly raised a knee into her paramour's groin. The groan she got in response was about as pained as she had expected, which gave her some small measure of pleasure.

"Whaaa…" was all Jonus was able to gasp out as he slid to the ground.

"Oh, my captain," Saffron whispered sadly, sounding for all the world like a woman who had been unable to find a good deal while out shopping. "You're just not the sort of man I could spend my life with. We really aren't suited at all. I've tried, and I've been patient, but you fumble like a boy just out of short trousers. And, even worse, you're as gullible as one too."

She reached inside his coat and pulled out the heavy money pouch from Mr Yu, fending off his weak attempts to stop her.

"Look at it this way," she told him, the smile on her face at odds with the sudden coldness in her eyes, "at least I saved you the cost of room service… especially since I was going to hit you with the wine bottle."

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Some of the shiny platinum coins bought her a change of clothes and some other items. While she was glad to get out of the dowdy dress, Saffron was careful not to draw too much attention to herself by splashing out unnecessarily, attempting instead to blend into the local populace. Then she began to tour the cafés.

It had been a few years since she was last on Newhall. Most of the old haunts had been replaced with newer establishments, tailored to suit the influx of tourists. But a couple of them were left, and it was at Dudsen's that she found the person she was looking for.

Mai sat at the centre of her circle of friends as she always had, holding court with her wit and encyclopaedic knowledge of local gossip. There was rarely anything that went on behind the doors of the houses of the rich and famous on Newhall that she did not know about. She still looked like a woman in the prime of her life, glowing with health, though she had to be, what, ten, fifteen years past her prime now? The years, and cosmetics, had been kind to her.

_The blonde look suits her. It certainly draws more attention from those whose eye she wishes to catch than mousy brown locks ever did. _A number of young men sat at nearby tables in the café; even those who had their eyes on another lady in her crowd always found their gaze strayed to the queen of the flock.

Eventually Saffron caught the older woman's attention. There was a brief second when her shock was written clearly on Mai's face, and then she caught herself as adeptly as she always had.

"Melissa?" she called in surprise, standing. Around her, everyone turned and craned their necks to see who it was who had interrupted their gathering. Mai put a hand to her scarf-wrapped throat. "Melissa, is that you, child?"

"It is I, Madame Mai," Saffron replied, taking her cue from the other woman. "I have returned at last, dear aunt, and returned a grown woman." Mai was pushing her way through the ring of people towards her supposed niece, who welcomed her approach with open arms.

"I can scarcely believe it!" Mai exclaimed happily. "You have changed so much I barely recognised you!" The smiles stayed on as they embraced. "What do you want?" Mai hissed harshly in Saffron's ear, completely in contrast to their exterior happiness.

"A moment of your time, in private," Saffron replied coolly, her lips barely moving, her own smile unbroken. She felt something… perhaps regret was the best word for it, although it was barely that. She had given up a good thing when she had left Newhall that last time; those heady days of learning the tricks of the trade, of fooling the foolish and scamming the purportedly wise and definitely rich. Perhaps that was it. Certainly there were no other regrets. Of course there were not.

"If only to be rid of you," was Mai cold reply. Turning back to her coterie of admirers, she was all smiles and joy again. "I am sorry, my friends, but this unexpected visitor… May I present my niece, Melissa Gillenhall?" The assorted ladies and girls, and more than a few of the men, nodded and bowed their greetings. "We must be away, I fear, for we have so much to catch up on! I shall call you all tomorrow."

The extended farewells began to grate on Saffron's nerves after the tenth one, but she did her best to hold onto her temper until her old friend was done.

The journey to Mai's residence was taken in complete silence. Saffron could see from the windows of the taxi that Mai had done very well for herself, if the houses of her neighbours were anything to go by. Hopefully, none of them would call the Feds too quickly once the inevitable shouting began.

They were met just inside the front door by a servant, who took their coats and retreated at Mai's firm request. The lady of the grand house then led the way to her study, gesturing curtly for Saffron to go in first. The room was luxurious, decorated with works of art and lushly carpeted. The centre of the room was a heavy desk, looking for all the world like it had been stolen from the office of some corporate director.

As the door closed behind them, Saffron caught the sound of a steely slither a second before a cold blade found it's place just below her right ear.

"What do you want, Phillipa?" Mai asked brusquely, a hand tight in Saffron's hair as she pulled her head back. "Make it quick, before I decide I want to you gone again… permanently."

"Is that any way to talk to an old–"

"No games," Mai whispered grimly, speaking right into Saffron's other ear. "I'm surprised you even had the courage to come back here… after what you did. But then you always did have guts, enough for the both of us." She paused. "I want you gone." The older woman released her grip on Saffron's hair, and allowed her to turn to face her. The knife, however, did not waver.

"I had hoped for a better welcome home," Saffron murmured, putting just the right amount of sadness and dejection into her tone. In any case, it was certainly true, albeit for less than sentimental reasons. She looked at the small knife at her throat, then back into Mai's eyes. "Aren't you even a little bit glad to see me?"

Mai stared into her eyes for a long time. Saffron allowed the tiniest glimmer of hope to spark into her eyes.

"That might have worked on me in the past, Philly," Mai said quietly, "but back then you hadn't disappeared in the middle of the night with the contents of my safe and one of my favourite young men… who later turned up unconscious in a hotel room." A slight shake of the head. "And you long gone."

"Then, in the memory of those times, let's start afresh." Saffron took a careful step back into the room, ever mindful of the knife… and of the heavy objects on the desk just behind her, should the need to defend herself become necessary.

"I don't think so." There was the barest hint of sadness in Mai's voice. The old woman was probably trying to play with her emotions, trick her with sentimentality. _Huh, good luck._

"We'll keep it to business then," Saffron shrugged, then continued briskly, "a service that I can pay for." Saffron held up the pouch of coins, now somewhat depleted. When Mai did not speak, Saffron went on. "Do you still have that hack?"

"The hack?" For a moment Mai was confused. Then realisation hit. "The hack. What the diyu do want with that? I'm not sure it even works anymore."

"I'm willing to bet that it does," Saffron told her smugly. "You wouldn't let such a great tool as that go to waste. You probably still use it to steal their clients whenever you get the chance."

"Not as well as you did," Mai smiled, a trace of pride in her voice. "I taught you so well…" She shook her head. "And now you want to go back to that, do you?"

"Oh no," Saffron replied, shaking her head. "It's not the clients I'm interested in this time. I want to find someone else."

"You… want to find a Companion?" This time, Mai sounded honestly surprised.

"Your backdoor into the Registry will tell me what appointments your old friends have made," Saffron explained to her old mentor. "I can use that to work out where this particular person will be in the coming weeks."

"And what did this… particular person do to you, to earn such attention from you?"

"She… made a fool of me."

"And you never liked being made a fool of," Mai chuckled. "You always had to beat them in the end." The older woman gazed at her old protégé for a long moment. "I'll help… but if I ever see you again afterwards, all bets are off. I'll have the Feds on you so fast you won't have the time to even think of one lie, let alone your customary dozen." She sighed. "What's the name of this Companion?"

"Inara Serra." _And wherever that bitch is, Reynolds is not far behind._

**End Of Chapter Two**


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